Assassin's Creed: Promises
by 3zioand5ofia
Summary: My father Ezio was a great man. Brave, loyal and protective. It has been nearly six years since we found him lifeless in the town square. But I have learned since then of the things which he fought for. Liberty. Justice. Peace. But his work is unfinished. I am Marcello Auditore- and one day, I will follow his footsteps and become an assassin. Rated M for violence.
1. Chapter 1

"It's my turn," I whined, stamping my foot.

"No it's not," replied Flavia, leaning back against the wall of the villa, "you went first."

"No, I didn't!" I protested loudly.

Flavia had always been able to gain the higher ground in disagreements effortlessly. A gift which she had inherited from Papà which I had not been so fortunate to receive. I stood there fuming while she tossed a leather ball up and down teasingly. "Never mind, Marcello. We can continue this game after dinner."

I looked past her dark auburn hair, which the edge of the now orange sun was glinting on in the distance. "No, we cannot. It will be dark."

Flavia sighed in resentment. I knew that she detested the times when I was a whinging little spoil-sport. Just as much as I could not stand having to look up to her. But most of the time, we got along just fine.

She stared at the grass for a moment, before looking up, smiling warmly. "Very well, _fratello mio_. You have another go."

It was almost impossible to feel grateful to her when she had seemed almost smug in her tone of voice. I took the ball from her, muttering: "_Grazie_."

The game which we were playing was a competition to see how far we could throw the ball. The loser, Flavia claimed, would have to help Papà harvest the grapes the next morning. A nasty job, as the vines gnarled at your hands and prickled your thumbs. I shivered at the thought.

I wanted to show her that I could be boss for once. I could be tough and strong and generally better than her. Aiming far into the distance and squinting into the sun, I hurled it five, ten, fifteen feet into the air, watching the little sphere sail past the sun triumphantly. I gave a proud, challenging look over my shoulder to Flavia, who remained expressionless.

As I looked back at the ball, I felt my victorious moment sink lower than a fallen bird. The ball dropped straight into the open window of Papà's den. I muttered an Italian curse which I had picked up from Papà's colourful range of language (Mamma often scolded him about this).

"Language, Marcello! Mind your mouth!" chuckled Flavia coldly.

"Shut up."

I trudged into the villa to fetch it. My moment of glory was stuck in quicksand. As I reached Papà's den, I hesitated at the door. We were never really allowed in Papà's den without permission. I knocked tentatively on the oak door. No reply.

"Papà?"

Not a stir. Gently, I pushed the door open. The fire had gone out and the room was deserted. In the middle was his desk, with neat stacks of quills, a small pot of ink and a mess of parchment. Papà had taken to writing between harvests. In fact, so had Mamma. A few chests behind the desk- which looked like they had not been touched for over one hundred years- were barely visible in the darkness.

The ball had landed by the window, left of Papà's desk. I hurried up and bent down to pick it up...but that was when I saw it. The chest which I wished I had never spotted. It sat right in the corner of the room, littered with dust. It was rather big and despite being covered in dust- very shiny. I shuffled on my knees towards it curiously.

_ Open it. Don't open it. Open it. Don't open it. _

_ This is not for your eyes, Marcello. Do not touch it. _

But the thought of Flavia gloating and having to work on the vines the next day made me feel daring. I swung open the lid. It creaked like whining baby animal.

Whatever I had expected to find in there, it definitely was not what _was_ in there. Confused for a moment, I carried the chest to the window to take a look at it in the light.

"_Mio dio_!" I gasped aloud, absolutely awestruck.

Inside lay a range of all different and incredible things: a tattered old crossbow, a metal glove or two with silver blades strapped to them, a sword, a black net material (which was similar to the fabric which Serena used in the kitchens to cover food from the prying eyes of insects), some dappled feathers and several posters which were worn with age. I picked one up and inspected the picture. It was a young man with a hood over his head, looking rather dark and mysterious. I held it up to the light and read.

_ Wanted: Ezio Auditore, Assassin._

I was stunned. Speechless. "Assassin?" I repeated in wonder and horror. "Papà? Assassin?!"

"Why are you taking so long?" I jumped a mile out of my skin. Turning, I saw Flavia by the door.

"Look at this." I gestured for her to approach. She walked in and looked at the poster. After a few moments, she clapped a hand to her mouth. "_Assassino_?! Our father was an _ assassino_?!"

"Are they the men and women who kill a lot of people?"

She nodded, still in shock. "I think so...but, Papà was not...no. It is not possible!"

We stood there, our steel eyes on the poster and torn between trance and absolute disgust. Time stood still as our gazes fell over the cruel and impossible words; making sure that our eyes weren't just playing tricks on us. We were trying to force the fact that the poster stated our own loving father was an assassin to sink into our minds. But it wouldn't; it just bobbed on the surface, impossible to forget and clogging up all other feelings for anything else outside the room...

Until Mamma's voice woke us from our terribly awkward and creepily tense reverie. She called from the kitchen:

"Ezio!"

Papà's mellow voice seemed uncomfortably close. I dropped the poster in alarm. _"Sí?"_

"Have you seen the children? They were playing in the garden."

"No. Why?"

"Dinner is ready."

Flavia swiftly spun around in shock, her chestnut hair catching me in the eye.

_"Aië!_" I cried out, louder than I felt necessary.

"Be quiet!" she hissed.

My eyes widened as I realised why Flavia had spun around in alarm: Papà's footsteps thudded closer and closer to the den. _Oh, dear. Now we **are** in trouble._

Much to our misfortune, he spotted us in his private room before he had even entered. His gaze darkened. "What are you doing in here?" he demanded furiously, nostrils flaring.

Flavia put her hands behind her back, attempting to look innocent. Seeing our father so angry made me tried to picture him as someone who'd had people in their dozens suffer at the hand of his blade. I gulped.

He saw the poster and gasped. His eyes, as if on fire, clouded with fury in a heartbeat. "_Fuorii_." he whispered dangerously.

"But Papà, we were just-" began Flavia.

"_Fuorii!_" he yelled. We scurried from the room like terrified rats and took refuge in the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

I can remember dinner that night being one of the most awkward times of my entire childhood. One would not think that there is much for a child to be ashamed of; but no. Flavia and I were certainly ashamed of what we had done, but were also white with shock in two aspects.

Flavia and I took our seats at the table, staring down at the empty wooden space before us. Our father- the gentle old family man- assassin? No. It HAD to be someone else. Not our Papà. I had heard tales, fables and legends from the other children in Firenze and Fiesole about fierce men in menacing hoods, blades tucked stealthily beneath their armoured wrists. They murdered anyone who were to cross their path. I stifled a shiver at the thought of Papà, young and quicker than the wind, slashing the blade I'd seen in the chest at a terrified face.

_Ezio Auditore, Assassin._ The words rang frantically in my head like little the clanging of warning bells in a distant church, getting louder and louder each time. E_zio Auditore, Assassin. Ezio. Auditore. Assassin. Assassin. Ass-ass-in._

The general clatter and chink of china in the kitchen signalled dinner being carried to the table. Flavia barely glanced up. She mumbled: "Do you think it's true, Marcello? The poster."

I wanted to refuse with indignation...but I knew I couldn't. "I- I don't think it's false..." I started, "but I cannot think it is true. It doesn't make sense...Andrea said that he was a merchant!"

But come to think of it, when I had asked curiously about Papà's past to Andrea (our maid), she had replied abruptly without looking up from her work: "He was a wine merchant in Constantiponole where he met Sofia. Now clear off- I have work to do." I had remained curious and went to ask Mamma, who refused to tell us anything.

The dark message was sinking in now. I couldn't believe it. I really and truly couldn't believe it. "Or maybe...Andrea was lying," I squeaked.

Mamma laid a plate of food down onto my table. I am usually a polite and modest boy who never forgets his table manners, but this night, I said nothing. She laid a hand on my shoulder. "Are you alright, Marcello? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," I muttered, "just...shocked."

"Shocked?" Mamma tipped her head in confusion. "Why?"

I never came to answer this question; Papà had stormed in. He saw us seated at the table and froze where he stood. For a moment a jet of ice shot down my spine at the cold look he gave me. It was like he had slapped me across the face. It was only for a second, before he sat opposite, grumbling and muttering a dark thank-you to Serena and Andrea for serving the meal.

Mamma tutted, rather amused as she took her seat. "Dear dear, we're all rather down in the dumps. What's wrong, _amore_?"

Papà took a sip of the wine he had made and sighed: "Those two." He indicated where Flavia and I were sat. _Blow to the stomach._

"The children?" Mamma looked horrified at the thought. "What have you two done?"

"They went in my study," he replied darkly. _Ouch. Another blow. Knocked over...and counting for death blow._

"What?!"

"They saw my poster of when I was younger." _Death blow. It was over. _My face burned with shame and fear.

Mamma looked like she was choking on her words in surprise and outrage. "Flavia! Marcello! What were you doing in there?" she demanded.

Flavia was first to speak. "The ball! It dropped through the window near the chest-" she squawked clumsily.

I decided to continue. "I really did not mean to go in there. I am sorry, Papà. I hope you'll forgive me. I accidentally saw it in there."

At that moment our eyes met. It was as if water had cooled the fire in his eyes; his gaze softened. "Alright, Marcello. _Grazie_, for being honest. I did not mean to get so cross."

We sat in silence for the rest of the mealtime. The awkwardness was too hard to bear. I was relying on somebody to say something to break the silence ringing out louder than the words still in my head. Eventually, Flavia approached the problem gingerly.

"P-Papà?" she stammered.

"Sí?"

"Was that r-really you on the poster?"

He sighed, taking a draught from his wine glass again. Silence again. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, preparing for another yelling.

"Ezio," began Mamma tenderly, "we have kept the truth from the children long enough. It is time."

The reactions were immediate. Flavia sat bolt upright in her seat; Papà putting his head in his hands and Mamma putting an arm on his shoulder. "Come on, _amore_," she whispered. "You told me nothing for about one year and I still loved you. It will not be any different with Flavia and Marcello."

Papà nodded in agreement, gripping her hand on his shoulder. "Very well. Flavia, Marcello, get ready for bed. I will explain everything."

**Sorry! Forgot some Italian words from the last chapter!**

**Fratello mio-** _My brother_

**Grazie-** _Thank you_

**Mio dio!** - _My god!_

**Assassino**- _Assassin_

**Sí**-_ Yes_

**Fuorii!** - _Get out!_

**Amore-** _Love_


End file.
